


Victoria Sponge Cake - In the name of the Queen

by hazelandglasz



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Baking, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy goes to a baking class and things unrail from that</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victoria Sponge Cake - In the name of the Queen

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some fluffy goodness for @lena221b's birthday - I hope you like it !

“C’m’on, Eggsy, it will be fun, he says,” Eggsy mumbles under his breath, digging his fists deeper in his pockets. “Learn how to make sweets to get all the girls, he says, and then,” he continues, kicking at the pavement, “the idiot can’t be arsed to remember we signed up for tonight! Fuck!”

Why is he still going to said pastry lessons, he wonders privately--except he knows exactly why.

Sure would be nice to be able to bake something nice and sweet for Mum and Daisy.

And if it does help in the dating front, Eggsy isn’t about to complaint.

“Kingsman, what a stupid name for a cooking class,” he still mutters as he enters the very posh place indicated on the website.

The class looks pristine, and Eggsy--who isn’t one to be bothered about whether or not he fits somewhere--has a moment of doubt about his outfit.

But then he spots the different participants, all wearing a large apron that covers their front completely, and he shrugs that doubt away.

Who cares about how posh or snobbish you are when you have your hands in the dough, right?

They’re all equals, facing eggs and flour and whatnots.

“Gather round, fellas.”

The voice is deep and strong, and Eggsy immediately straightens up at the sound of it.

At the sight of its owner, his eyes widen a bit, and he wonders if he’s here to cook or to learn how to kill someone without leaving any trace behind.

Maybe kill someone with a cake …?

Because that man? The bald, impressive man holding up a thick pile of papers in one hand and enough bowls for every student in the class?

Looks like he would fit in any Bond movie with ease--as the unstoppable villain, that is.

“Your instructor is coming in a moment,” Bald-yet-hot says, passing instruction sheets and bowls around the class, “try not to destroy everything beyond recognition in the meantime.”

He ends his round with Eggsy, who gives him a jaunty little salute with the bowl against his temple, and he walks out, muttering under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like “too old for this shit.”

Eggsy starts reading the recipe--a Victoria sponge cake? He guesses it could be nice to make one from scratch for “his” women, God knows they deserve it.

“Are you all ready to learn how to bake? I’m Harry Hart, and I will be your instructor this evening.”

The voice is less rough, smoother than Bald-yet-hot’s, and Eggsy looks up.

And promptly hides behind his piece of paper to keep his gobsmacked face from the stunning silver fox standing at the front of the class.

And to keep from staring too much at the strong forearms peeking from the elegantly rolled sleeves,  _ Jesus christ, mate _ .

But Eggsy is not one to stay stupid in front of a crush, so he kicks himself in the butt and straightens up, following the instructions and keeping his eyes on the man’s hands.

“No electric mixer, guv?” he asks with a smirk as other students merely groan.

The man turns his attention to Eggsy, and there is a definite heat in his gaze. “Afraid you’re not strong enough to beat some eggs?” he asks, cocking one eyebrow, and dammit, it shouldn’t be so hot.

“Merely curious, guv,” he says, flexing his arms and grinning at the giggles he can hear from other students.

“Get to it, then, Mister …?”

“Unwin. Eggsy Unwin,” Eggsy replies with a cheeky wink in his best James Bond impression.

“Get to it, Mister Unwin.”

Working the mixer in the eggs and sugar is easy enough, and adding the flour proves trickier than Eggsy thought.

As much as he tried to follow the man’s movement around the room, he still gasps when he feels Mr. Hart standing right behind him to look over his shoulder and into the bowl.

“You don’t need to be so forceful,” the man says softly, almost intimately, in Eggsy’s ear, his large hand reaching down to cover Eggsy’s and slow him down. “Fold the flour and the butter in, Eggsy, it will do wonder to fluff the cake.”

Eggsy is stunned silent, and he feels himself getting hard in his pants as he lets the older man guide his hand a wrist around the bowl.

_ Didn’t see that one coming--stop thinking of coming! _

“Will--will do, guv.”

“Good.”

_ Oh shit _ .

“Now,” the instructor says, stepping away from Eggsy and addressing the class, “you should all start greasing your pans.”

Eggsy has a fleeting moment where he lets himself imagine Harry Hart and himself greasing something alright, but he shakes himself out of it, because …

Well, his pants may be comfortable enough to hide a boner, but he is not looking forward a walk home in wet ones.

So he takes the pans, and the softened butter, and he starts greasing it with a piece of kitchen paper until it’s just not precise enough for his liking, and he finishes it with his fingers.

A pan clanks on the counter, and Eggsy looks up just in time to see their instructor looking away from the general area of Eggsy’s station.

_ Is that so …? _

Eggsy smiles privately, and makes sure to “accidentally” bump into Harry on his way to the oven.

And to pick one of the ovens closest to the floor, “forcing” him to bend over.

“I’m not going to ask you to make your own jam,” Harry says while the cakes are all cooling on a table, “but we  _ are  _ going to make our own whipped cream.”

One of the posh idiots makes an imitation of a whip, but Eggsy keeps his eyes on Harry, a crooked smile on his face as the idiot repeats it.

Harry returns his gaze, his eyebrows slightly raised, and Eggsy can definitely picture him handling a different kind of whip.

_ He would make it so good, I’m sure … _

Harry pours the cream in a bowl, and when he inadvertently lets a couple of droplets on his fingertips and  _ licks them, the absolute bastard _ , Eggsy suddenly feels his comfortable pants get a little bit tighter.

“It’s not like the dough,” Harry instructs, his torso practically not moving as his wrist moves the silver whisk in the bowl quickly and efficiently. “You want to be forceful to bring the cream to a more solid consistency.”

_ Well there is definitely something that is getting more solid in here. _

_ And there might be cream too if you insist. _

The girl next to Eggsy has a killer focus on the poor cream in her bowl as she whips it vigorously--so much so, in fact, that some of it flies to Eggsy’s shirt and nose.

“Hey!”

“Oops,” she says, opening wide eyes, “sorry!”

Eggsy nods in acknowledgment and cleans the cream from his sleeve, keeping his own whipped cream to his allotted bowl and space.

Following the instructions, and with minimal disaster on Eggsy’s part, they all put their cream in plastic bags to pipe it on top of the jam.

Some of the students just pour it haphazardly--and frankly it looks a mess--but Eggsy follows Harry’s example and pipes slowly around the cake, spot after spot, to make it look as delicious as it probably is.

There is some cream left once he’s done, but Eggsy shrugs it off--he’ll take it home, it’s whipped cream after all.

_ Maybe Mum will like it with her coffee before going to work at arse’o’clock in the morning. _

He looks at his final cake, and at the others, and without thinking too much of himself, he didn’t do such a bad job for a first timer.

He smirks at the poor sods who didn’t pay attention or were fooling around and end up with a lopsided cake before straightening up as Harry comes closer to him.

Bald-yet-hot is distributing boxes to all the students, and Eggsy tries to steady his hands when he realizes that a, he has to move the cake from the table to the box without fucking everything up, b, that he’s the only student left--coincidence?--and c …

That he can feel the heat radiating from Harry Hart’s body he’s standing so close to him.

Which is  _ not  _ helpful in the hand steadying situation.

“Take a deep breath,” Harry says softly, his hand on the counter, “and do it quickly. Don’t overthink it.”

“How did everybody else do it?” Eggsy asks, clenching his fists before relaxing them.

“Merlin did it for them.”

“Merl--? Oh, alright. And why do I have to do it myself then?!”

Eggsy turns his best offended glare onto Harry, but it quickly melts away in the heat residing in the older man’s eyes.

“You were clearly the more talented of the group,” Harry says, his voice steady but quickly getting darker, “I thought you would enjoy some … advanced elements.”

“Advanced?”

“Other uses for that whipped cream, to name one in a long list.”

“How long?”

“I leave that to your imagination … Eggsy.”

“I have a very rich imagination … Harry.”

“Brilliant.”

“You have no idea.”

(It is a rather long list, and Eggsy gets to test his theories about the pastry teacher.

He was totally right.)


End file.
